With Blood on His Lips
by OfPaintAndOil
Summary: The first time she sees him, she thinks he has dead eyes and killer cheekbones. The second time she sees him, there's blood splattered across the alley walls around him in a way that could only have been caused by an experienced hand. She's amused and he's intrigued, and for a faerie and a sociopath, that's a deadly combination. Rated T for blood and gore. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Declaimer: I own nothing related to _Naruto_.

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Her first thought when she saw Itachi Uchiha for the first time was that he had killer cheekbones and dead eyes.

He wasn't dead, of course; not in the physical sense. But when he walked into the _Akatsuki_ club with cheekbones that could cut butter and eyes as dead as a shark's, Sakura Haruno wondered how he'd taste.

If the impeccable style the man had said anything, she supposed it would be delicious. A silky black shirt, the sleeves rolled up, with the top few buttons open, revealing pale, smooth collarbones; casual slacks that covered a walk that spoke of a rich upbringing and careless confidence; and leather shoes that spoke of the Italians and what she'd bet cost more than the average person would ever willingly pay.

Her second thought was that he was fake. His smoothed back black hair, tied at the nape of his neck in a flawless ponytail, his frowning lips that were far too pretty to be on a man, his aura of not kindness or shyness, but of confidence without the usual egotistical swagger. All a lie. A very deliciously packaged lie, but a lie nonetheless.

She frowned and turned back to the man currently trying to chat her up. Men were just so _pushy_ in any century, Sakura thought. This one had slid right up into the empty seat next to her at the bar not even five minutes after she'd entered, insisting that he pay for her drink. She'd declined as politely as she could but found that his fingers were rather quick for a human. He'd slid his credit card over to the bartender before she'd touched her wallet. She frowned as he shot her a megawatt smile.

He'd said his name was Hidan, if she remembered correctly. He'd insisted on touching her. Nothing overbearing or what could be considered inappropriate, just little swipes of his fingertips against her arm or knee, never going higher. But he made her skin crawl.

When she'd finished her first margarita, he'd insisted they do shots. This time, she played along and flashed him a coy smile and ordered another margarita when the bartender came over before he could even open his mouth. But still he smiled at her.

She indulged him for a few more minutes after she'd seen the well dressed man with the dead eyes come in. Still, he didn't do anything that would outwardly draw attention. Mostly Sakura just wanted to see how many drinks she could get him to pay for.

Licking his lips, Hidan finally asked her if she drove here. She chuckled and said no and he said something about driving her home, not wanting anything to happen to her. And Sakura thought about him being a nice guy who would open doors for her and buy her drinks and his gaze would never stray to her chest.

And then she thought about how he didn't listen to her when she said no to paying for her drinks or not letting her take a taxi home and his hand on her knee and thought about feeding him to the man with the dead eyes.

Sakura smiled and reached out to touch Hidan's arm. His gaze got foggy and he smiled warmly at her. She leaned a tad closer and said something quietly. Hidan nodded, but before he could stand up, the well dressed man with the dead eyes was there. A very quiet kind of smile was on his lips and Sakura's fingers twitched.

"I think the lady wants some space," dead eyes said quietly. He didn't even try to raise his voice over the music and laughing voices, but she could hear him clear as day anyways.

Hidan nodded, still smiling sloppily and left, wiggling his fingers at her as he walked away. Dead eyes watched him, a tilt to his head. Then he blinked and looked back at her, still with that soft smile on his lips.

Sakura wanted to bite those lips.

He gestured to the now empty seat Hidan had vacated and Sakura hesitated, but then nodded, smiling back at him. She wondered if there was anything behind those dead eyes. She'd always found the human ideas about the eyes being the windows to the soul as an interesting one, maybe a little amusing.

"Itachi Uchiha," he said, sliding smoothly into the seat. He held out a hand for her to shake.

"Sakura," she said, shaking his hand. No last name. His skin was warm and inviting. Everything about him was inviting. Everything except, of course, those black eyes, eyes she'd bet most people didn't notice until it was too late.

His smile widened, the change miniscule. Sakura ran her tongue over the top of her teeth.

"He seemed a tad pushy," Itachi parroted her earlier thought back to her. Sakura thought about how easily he must have read her, how he must have been watching her interact with Hidan. She wondered if he'd noticed how she'd watched him back, if that was why he'd chosen her to come over to. With looks like his, finding a very willing and smiling female wouldn't be difficult. Or man, if he so desired.

"He was," she agreed with a low hum. She twirled a long strand of curled pink hair around her finger. "I was just about to get rid of him when you walked over. Very white knight of you, by the way."

She thought there was a speck of amusement in his eyes at that. "He left rather easily," he said, quirking his head at her.

Sakura shrugged and took a sip of her margarita.

Itachi eyed her almost empty glass. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Hmm. I don't think so." She tipped the glass towards where Hidan had left. "He already bought me two drinks."

"I take it you're not much of a party girl, then?"

"Oh?" she said. "And what would make you think that?"

"Call it intuition."

"Do you usually have good intuition, Itachi?"

His lips quirked up. "Typically, yes."

"Well," she drawled, leaning back in her seat. "I'm not trying to get rip roaring drunk and I'm entirely uninteresting in dancing. So maybe that's what your intuition picked up on."

"You don't like to dance?" Itachi asked, like it was a challenge.

Her eyes gleamed and she let out a low, amused laugh. "Not this kind of dancing."

"Even if I asked you to? I'll promise not to let any guys grope you."

"Any guys except for you, right?"

"Presumptuous," Itachi hummed. "Would you want me to grope you like a horny boy, Sakura?"

This time her smile showed too many teeth. "I'd gut you if you tried," she said with a light voice, just to see how he'd react.

His throat bobbed. "I see. Definitely not a typical party girl, then."

"Oh, I greatly enjoy parties. I could dance for eternity, but this isn't the place for my kind of dancing."

"Let me guess," Itachi said, folding his hands across his lap and crossing his long legs. "Salsa?"

She laughed. "Not quite, though I can do a mean salsa when I need to."

"Ballet?"

"I'm flexible, but no, not really. I like greasy foods far too much."

He wasn't annoyed with her teasing. He wasn't really much of _anything_ , though the amused smile seemed to be permanently stuck on his face. "Are you going to keep me guessing, then?"

"Maybe," she hummed, narrowing her eyes. "But I'm more interested in talking about you."

"Oh?"

"If you try to tell me you're not very interesting, I'll call bullshit."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't dare." He leaned forward. "Well, I'm a normal businessman. I work for my family's company."

"What does your company do?"

"We're invested in many organizations."

Her smile widened. "You know, if your family is involved in the mafia, you could have come up with a better lie."

He laughed at that. Sakura couldn't tell if it was completely fake. "We deal with electronics, medical research, mostly show our faces at fundraisers and board meetings where we hold management chairs, that kind of thing. It's all very boring."

"Don't you enjoy the chance to outwit other men and women in word games, Itachi?" she said softly.

He licked his lips. "Now, Sakura, that would be morally wrong of me."

She scoffed. "That's not really an answer, but okay. We don't have to talk about your work."

Itachi waved down the bartender and ordered himself a drink and gestured to her now empty margarita. When she shook her head, he didn't push it.

"What do _you_ do, Sakura?" he asked after he'd taken a sip of his rather boring looking drink. She'd always preferred sweeter and colorful things. Two things the man in front of her was not.

"I work for the mafia," she deadpanned.

This time when he laughed, she could tell he meant it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

They talked. They threw barbs at each other. Sakura let out her sarcasm to its full effect and all Itachi did was smile and look more than a little amused at her. She wasn't sure if she was insulted that nothing she was saying was getting him to react or flattered that he found her interesting enough to stay seated with her and not go find easier prey, even when she made it clear she wasn't going home with him.

It was growing late and finally Sakura excused herself, saying something about getting up early tomorrow. Itachi rose with her and held out a hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Sakura."

One pink eyebrow rose. "You too, Itachi. You've a very peculiar man."

"I'll take that as a compliment. Shall I wave down a taxi for you?"

"I've already called an Uber."

He licked his lips. "I never saw you on your phone."

"Now, it would be rude of me to be on my phone when I'm having such a lovely conversation."

"Just so long as I don't notice," he mused.

She smiled widely. "Exactly."

"I believe this is the part where I ask for your number."

She passed him the napkin her drink had come on. He chuckled and said, "You're making me feel quite foolish, Sakura. Not noticing you on your phone is one thing, not noticing you get a pen and write your number is another."

Her smile turned coy. "Perhaps I just distracted you with my glamour."

His mouth parted, and even though she knew the club was far too dark and his eyes even blacker, she could have sworn she saw his eyes dilate. She did have rather good eyesight, after all.

"You grow more intriguing the longer I'm in your presence, Sakura," he purred.

Not once that evening had he touched her. Not a slip of the hand on her palms when she set them on the table, not a ghosting of his fingers when she handed him the napkin with a fake phone number written on it.

She licked her lips and eyed his parted lips. "Have to keep you interested, don't I? Otherwise, what's the point?"

She saw his nostrils flare. "What a blunt thing to say," Itachi said softly.

She gave him a closed lipped smile. "I'll take my leave, then."

And she turned and left Itachi standing there. She could feel his dead eyes bore into her back on the way out. And while it didn't feel crude, it still made her skin crawl in a way that was different to how Hidan's eyes had made her feel.

Itachi Uchiha was an interesting human.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

She only had to wait another half hour before she heard a thump in the alley behind the club. Sakura leaned up against the brick wall, invisible to the world and stared up at the sky. There were too many lights in this bustling city to see any stars, and a plane flew overhead, it's flashing light drawing her eyes.

She breathed out and a puff of warm air was visible in the cold air. Sakura hated the cold. She could bundle up in her warmest sweaters and expensive jackets and silk scarves and still feel the impact of these winters. She missed the warmth of home. She missed the eternally alive and flourishing flowers there, the wildness of the animals. She, quite simply, ached for home.

When there was the sound of a body being thrown into what she supposed would be the metal dumpster behind the club, Sakura sighed and walked around the corner. She was greeted with blood spattered on the filthy brick walls and hand streaks on the ground and around the dumpster Hidan was slumped against. He was muttering a very long and creative stream of curse words. Her eyebrows rose at some of the phrases he uttered.

Itachi Uchiha was, of course, holding a rather long and expensive looking knife and was kneeling down in front of Hidan. He was humming something under his breath, something that was likely from a play or a Russian orchestra. The clothes Sakura had been admiring only a few hours ago were spattered with blood and there was a smear down his cheek and across his mouth.

He reached down and tilted Hidan's head to look at him. Into his dead eyes, Sakura thought. Hidan opened his mouth to no doubt curse at him and instead was greeted with a knife being sliced across his throat.

Itachi stepped back before his clothes could get too much of the blood on them. Sakura had to give Hidan credit—even with blood sputtering out of him in a steady stream, he kept eye-contact with Itachi, loathing and fury clear as day.

He died pissed off, and Itachi was just staring at him, even when he stopped twitching and sat, slumped there. Sakura licked her lips and watched as Itachi tilted his head, chest heaving from the tussle that had ensued before she'd gotten to the alley.

His eyes were still dead.

Eventually, he looked down at his clothes and sighed heavily. "Pity," he muttered to himself. "It was such a nice shirt."

Sakura took that moment to reveal herself, dropping her glamour. "You've made quite the mess," she mussed, more than a little amused and impressed when a smaller knife Itachi had been concealing was immediately thrown at her head. Sakura laughed and easily stepped to the side.

She turned to see it clink off the brick wall, harmless. She swirled her hand and made the wind carry it back to her, coming to rest in her palm. She turned back to Itachi with a smirk and began to twirl it around.

"Should I be insulted or flattered you threw a knife at my head? Do all the girls you chat up get the same treatment or are you more inclined to save this honor for men?" She chewed her lip thoughtfully and ignored how his dead eyes bore into her. She could practically feel his mind whirling, a slight moment of irritation flashing across his face at not noticing her sooner. "Do you have a type or is it more luck of the draw?"

"Sakura," he said, his voice like smooth chocolate. "How . . . unexpected."

"I suppose being caught murdering a random man tends to be rather unexpected, yes."

"Not just any man," he mused, hands pushed into the pockets of his pants, the larger knife he'd used to kill Hidan hidden from sight. Sakura internally purred at how he was trying to make her think the only knife he had was the only currently being twirled in her hand. Silly man. "I believe he was the scum who was politely trying to manhandle you into bed. But that is moot. I'm more interested in talking about how you managed to sneak up on me. And how you made my knife fly to your hand."

He gave her a charming smile that did nothing to erase the blood on his lips.

Sakura hummed thoughtfully and looked towards the sky again. Maybe she should go somewhere warmer soon. Somewhere she could actually see the stars. She missed naming them. "And what is it you think you saw, Itachi?" She balanced the very sharp point of the knife on her index finger, watching the handle wobble.

He licked his lips, smearing the blood there. "I think you're more than you appear, Sakura."

"You flatter me."

He took slow steps towards her until he was not even a foot away. When she didn't move back or tense, Itachi narrowed his eyes. "You're not nervous?"

"Why would I be?"

"As you've pointed out, you just witnessed me killing a man. That does tend to make other people nervous, I've found."

"You think yourself very good at reading other people, don't you?" she asked softly, making eye-contact with him. She let even more of her glamour drop, not only letting this human see her but letting a taste of her heritage peak out. She saw his eyes dilate. "You think you can pick out easy prey in a crowd, can tell who would be easy to manipulate and bend to your will. Tell me, Itachi—" Sakura closed that last foot of distance between them, hovering chest to chest with him, a whisper of space between them. "—did you find me to be easily manipulated?"

His throat bobbed. "I found you interesting. You are becoming even more so the longer I'm in your presence." His eyes moved to the knife she was still spinning around in her palm. "Are you going to use that or may I have it back?"

"What, the knife behind your back isn't good enough?"

His lips curled at the edges. "It would be rude to have it so out in the open."

"Better hidden until used, is that it?"

He chuckled and said, "Exactly."

Sakura hummed and went to stand on her toes. "What's it like to kill someone, Itachi?"

His mouth parted and Sakura caught a glimpse of a pink tongue that darted out to lick at the blood on his mouth. One hand came up to grip her waist—the first time that night he'd laid a hand on her.

"I wish I could show you," he purred. His eyes were wide and dilated. "You might love it."

She pushed the knife at his chest, the metal tip resting just above his stomach. She didn't push it any further, didn't put any more force to draw blood. If she was going to hurt him, she sure as hell didn't need a human weapon to do it.

Sakura balanced it there and softly said, her words a drawl, "What makes you think I haven't already?" Releasing her grip on the knife, she watched Itachi's hand come up out of reflex to catch it before it clattered to the ground.

When he stood all the way back up, Sakura was gone, disappearing into thin air.

A large grin stretched across his face. He brought his thumb up and swiped it across his lips, catching the last bit of blood and smearing it further across his mouth and down his chin. He wondered how quickly he could find her again.

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Author's Note: Happy New Years, guys! Consider this as my present to you all for the amazing responses I've gotten for _The Soulmate Principle_. Most of you really seemed to like the idea of a sociopath!Itachi and a faerie!Sakura, so here ya go. Enjoy.

This isn't going to be a very in-depth story, just a lot of banter between sociopath!Itachi and more-than-a-little-amused-at-the-human faerie!Sakura. This is going to be kinda dark, just because Itachi will kill people. I'm not going to make it especially gory, but it will be present. Sakura's not exactly any innocent, either. ;P

Please **REVIEW** and tell me what you think! As always, I love hearing what you guys want to see happen and where you think this story is going. (Y'all know I don't really plan out any of my stories, only that I have vague ideas on how it'll proceed.)


	2. Chapter 2

Standard disclaimer applies.

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Sakura was bored.

She'd come to the human realm nearly six centuries ago, and while the never ending inventions and new social norms never ceased to amaze her, she missed home. She missed her court. She missed how wild everything was, while in the human realm it was like they were forever inventing new ways to conceal the wild life around them. Forests? Cut them down. Natural plains of land, stretching on and on in a brand new country some settler or another had discovered? Build towns. When more and more people were born, build cities. Then came skyscrapers, and eventually there was nowhere left in the world undiscovered. Nowhere was left pure. Even the sky and oceans were claimed.

She'd stuck around in different lands over time. When she'd first exited the Black Forest six centuries ago, she stayed in Germany for a short time. After that was France. After that was Spain. Then Austria and Russia and Prussia and Croatia. She was in England when the British Empire was at its height, when they and a few other countries were traveling the world, greedy to claim new lands and stick their flags in new soil.

She was getting a bit tired with the ruling monarchy at the time, was ready for new people, new life. (There was also a duke of some sort or other who was annoyingly persistent.) She left shortly after news had spread about the new land, about what would become the thirteen original colonies in America.

Sakura was more than used to the religious practices around the world, the strictness of them. Sakura sometimes would think back to how England was thrown into disarray for so many years, forever deciding if they were Catholic or Protestant. She'd sit in her overly lush chair in her condo in New York and think how pointless it all was, how at that point humans had lost sight of what religion even was and was too occupied in arguing over the most redundant aspects of it to pay attention to the important things.

But when she left to go to America for the first time, it wasn't long after that she was burned at the stake for being a witch. Completely false, of course. She was a faerie, not these petty humans' idea of a human with magic. Honestly, though. It was rather insulting.

Her hair and eyes were already a good enough reason to be prosecuted as a witch (heck, being a woman and not the most "obedient" or "humble" person were more than enough reasons), but she'd also insulted one of the town "leaders" by not letting him put his hand up her skirt.

When they'd come for her and tied rocks to her hands and feet, the religious leader saying something about praying for her soul and how if she drowned it would prove her innocence, Sakura laughed.

She let them drop her in the river. At that point she was just so done, and she wanted to screw with them a bit more. They'd already drowned three other girls—drowning, of course, proved that they were indeed innocent and just plain, stupid girls, how good for their souls but, oops, now they were dead; what could you do?—for no other reason than having the misfortune of being born female in this century and living with idiots.

She could have broken the ropes around her wrists and ankles at any time, but instead just talked with some of the fishes under the water while she waited until the good for nothing villagers decided to pull her up again to see if she alive or dead—the fishes were rather put out about all the drowning girls, some even had hidden their young so as not to be mentally scarred—which turned out to be about a half hour.

When they did pull her out, Sakura played dead. She went limp and stopped her breathing and listened as the priest (or pastor or whatever the holy fuck he was calling himself) pray over her body and give a very long and boring speech about souls and damnation and what-have-you.

When someone went to pick up her body, her head shot up and she said, "Surprise _motherfuckers_ ," in the best reenactment of a demon she could manage. (If she may or may not have let her glamour swirl around her eyes to making them seem completely black, well, they fucking _started it_ with drowning random girls.)

Obviously, they tried to burn her at the stake.

And they obviously hadn't thought this far ahead because they then had some problems in even lighting the fire. They kept on bring over their touches to her and the wood and dry grass around her and nothing would catch fire. Someone, however, finally noticed that Sakura was ever so softly blowing on the flames when they came near—not enough to put out the flame of course, and technically not nearly enough to prevent the wood around her from catching on fire, but she was a witch, after all, so who knew what she could do?—and so they then gagged her.

When still the flames still wouldn't take, one of the more annoying girls that liked to point her stubby little finger at others and call them witches noticed that Sakura was twirling her hand around the ropes. They then had to bind her hands completely, but when one of the gruff men who wouldn't stop mumbling prayers under his breath and damnings of the wickedness of the female race came near her with a wicked looking knife in his hand, well, Sakura didn't care much for the way he was eyeing her fingers.

Sighing heavily through the rather disgusting cloth in her mouth, Sakura disappeared in a very climatic puff of black smoke. She added some maniacal laughter to complete the scene.

After that whole event, Sakura took to living in the woods. It wasn't difficult, not when it was similar back then to home, all the wild abandonment. She didn't have to wear the hideous dresses and bonnets that she would've had she gone to another town. She even met up with some natives who saw her as she was and were not afraid.

For a while, it was nice.

And then humans did and humans do, and there was war and expansion to the west. The natives were eventually killed by a mixture of the Spanish and the English and everyone in-between.

Sakura had been peeking in on the settlers every once in a while and had overheard the disquiet about the British Empire and King George the Third. She mostly did this because every once in a while, she was tempted to steal away someone, just like in the olden days.

She could always take them back to her home realm. But she wasn't quite ready to go back there yet for her own reasons, and so when she'd meet humans she was fond of, those she could tempt away from their boring little lives and wander into the woods to find her, sometimes she stole them away.

Mostly it was only for a short while. A day or so, and when they'd stumble back into their little town they could make up some story about getting lost or being chased by wild natives.

Sometimes, however, they stayed with her. She had to keep them away from the natives of the land, but she was more than able to provide for their human bodies.

Those were her favorites. Whatever was left of her true nature from centuries back home, when she'd only ever peek out into the human realm to grab hold of a lost human and pull them back with her, still dwelled under the surface. It was simply her nature.

She'd offer the human food. An apple, a handful of berries, a tart, a slice of pie— whatever it was the human in question craved. After she'd spent some time in Greece, sometimes Sakura would offer a human a pomegranate, a secret smile on her face.

If they ate what she offered, they were hers. Centuries and centuries ago, Sakura wouldn't have told them what it all meant, what they were giving her if they ate anything from a faerie.

But she'd always tell the newer humans. Sakura could still remember their names, though sometimes their faces were fuzzy. Kiba, Temari, Karin, Konan, Tenten, Hinata, Neji, Deidara, Gaara, Ino . . .

She'd warned them of the price. She would care for them, make sure all their needs were met, but they'd never be able to go home. Never be able to stomach human food ever again, nothing that didn't come from her own hand.

Some agreed. Others didn't. She'd always take them home if they so wished, even altering the memories of their families and the town to make them believe they were never missing in the first place.

When they did stay, sometimes they were lovers. Sometimes they were just friends, comrades. Sometimes it was like looking after a child.

Sakura let them set the pace. Her nature made her impossibly greedy; if they let her, she'd encompass everything about them. But she wouldn't push anything on them either.

When the war for America's independence broke out, Sakura participated. It wasn't something that was really planned, but only being an observer could be boring. So if she whispered plans into leaders' ears while they slept or gave them informative dreams they could never quite explain away, well, it was only ever a push in the right direction.

Time went on. Sakura found that besides the whole being burned at the stake thing, she was rather fond of this country. It didn't have the centuries of blood and pain other European countries had. It didn't feel the same down in her bones.

Mostly she kept to herself, sans the handful of humans she collected. When the wars broke out—as they were always going to do—Sakura found herself being nosey and again traveling and participating. She found herself sailing out to Dunkirk. She found herself shaking hands and smiling and flirting with a young Adolf Hitler before WWII was even a thought. She found herself in Berlin when the wall went up. She found herself in Soviet Russia and sending information back to the United States. She found herself more than a little obsessed with making sure an American was the first man on the moon. She'd immerse herself in human culture and laws and customs.

Sometimes she was a painter, other times she was a scholar. Sometimes she was a field medic and sometimes a spy. Other times she made herself invisible and whispered ideas and plans into generals and rulers' ears. As the years went on, she began to elevate herself to more positions of power, shaping the world how she wanted it to.

Sakura had always been more than a little greedy.

She had stood in New York City and was sipping a cooling coffee, walking down the street when the first plane crashed into the Twin Towers. She found herself dropping the cup, watching it splatter across the ground and listening to the screams around her. She found herself wrapping the humans around her in shields before it was a coherent thought. When the second plane crashed, Sakura's hands were curled into claws and her fangs were out. When she started to see and understand that the objects falling were human bodies, her glamour was almost completely gone.

Sakura wasn't proud of what happened next.

She couldn't show what she was. Burning witches may not be a threat anymore, but revealing her inhuman nature wasn't possible. The humans around her were coughing from the dust storm the falling tower had produced, it was beyond loud—loud as war, loud as gunshots, loud as hell itself—

They wouldn't pay her any attention, not her inhumanness, and even if they did it would be chalked up to fear and adrenaline and the dust and horror around them. But if she had stopped the towers from falling, if she'd directed the second plane with the wind before it crashed—

They would have seen. They would have noticed. Cameras were everywhere. And if she was caught, no one would be around to help her. Getting out of being burned at the stake by lonely settlers in colonial America was one thing, being hunted by the most powerful country in the world was another.

So she stood and watched the towers fall, one right after another. She listened to the screams around her and she did nothing but protect the few humans around her that she could without revealing her heritage.

Later—much, much later—Sakura ruined her apartment. She was covered in dust and filthy in a way she hadn't been since indoor plumbing had been invented and screamed, her claws scratching into the hardwood and her fangs tearing into pillows and bedding.

The humans she'd been so fond of wouldn't have sat around and done nothing. _This_ —this beautiful country—was their home. Some had been original settlers. Some had left with their families to escape persecution. Some had fought and died for this country and what it represented. And _now_ —

The next few years Sakura didn't stay in the country. She left and she shed _so_ _much_ blood.

Some were innocent. Some belonged to unfortunate people who just so happened to know a piece of information she needed. Others deserved the hours of torture she delivered before finally killing them or handing them over to other American operatives like a nicely packaged present. Many were women and children. Wives dedicated to their husbands and their self-proclaimed causes. Children being trained since they could walk to carry bombs into civilian and military spots alike, because who could shoot a child carrying a grenade? Victimized wives. Innocent, naïve children who were used as hostages.

Sakura wouldn't regret any of it.

She was feral those years. Sakura had been that way before, more than once. War was not something she was unused to, even before she came to live in the human realm. Faeries were just as violent and bloodthirsty as any human, perhaps even more so. She'd led warriors to the front lines and schemed and plotted and sacrificed to win battles.

The courts had _hated_ each other. Sure, they tended to meet up once a century for some gathering or other, perhaps one winter solstice if the Winter Court had their way or the first day of spring if the Spring Court got their way, but it was with thinly veiled hatred and threats at each other, dancing until the human pets some of the courts had danced their way to their death, heels cracked and bleeding, dying from thirst and exhaustion. Some wore down their feet until you could see bone.

Sakura didn't go back to America for some time after that. She spent some time in Russia and considered wrecking mayhem just to see what would happen. She didn't take any human lovers or friends and stayed in the shadows, participating in human events but still holding more than a few grudges from over the years. She still had trouble going back to France after the whole beheading and French Revolution business.

The night she met Itachi Uchiha, Sakura had only been back in America for about a year. She'd found herself a nice condo and had hired an interior decorator who came highly recommended to furnish the place. (If the amount she was paying the fabulously dressed man was any indication, he was quite good. When she saw the final product, full of pastel colors and animal decorations and mahogany cabinets and lush chairs and couches that were inviting, Sakura gave him a rather generous bonus.)

She wasn't sure what had come over her. Itachi Uchiha was an interesting human, but she was also betting he was a sociopath. Sakura had met her fair share of sociopaths and psychopaths long before those terms were even invented, and while they proved to be a fun bit of amusement, after a while Sakura would either have to put them down herself or watch others do it for her. On the rare occasion, sometimes they even got away with it.

But, goodness, she was _so_ bored. It was in the dead of winter and she _hated_ winter; it reminded her too much of the Winter Court and the wars she'd fought there. She hated how there was almost nowhere left in the human realm to go that was nothing but nature, where she could go see the stars and name them and not have to worry about an airplane flying overhead.

She hated how breathing in this kind of bone deep cold made her insides freeze, made her lungs feel like they were icing over. How it brought back memories of the Winter Court, when winter fae warriors would ice their enemies from the inside out, how if Sakura didn't heat herself at the _exact_ right time in the _exact_ right spot her whole body would stop producing warmth.

There had been too many wars back home. The courts never, _ever_ stopped warring with one another and—

But there hadn't been another war in centuries, Sakura knew that much. She'd made sure of it.

When Sakura disappeared from Itachi's sight, leaving him to catch his knife and wondering who and what she was, she'd already begun to berate herself.

She didn't worry too much about the world finding out what she was anymore. She was too powerful after all these centuries to not be able to take care of something like that, if he could even get anyone to take him seriously when speaking about a pink haired girl with burning green eyes and the ability to control the wind and disappear into thin air. Yeah, good luck with that.

But Itachi didn't seem like the type to start blabbing about her. About anything, really. And not just because no one would believe him, and even if they did, he would have to explain what he was doing in the alley behind the _Akatsuki_ club. And Sakura was sure he wasn't about to start talking up people about his homicidal tendencies. He was too smart for that.

Actually, Itachi seemed too smart for a lot of things. For one, he might actually figure out what she was, if she let him. And Sakura was actually considering it.

She was bored. She got dangerous when she was bored. Fucking with a sociopath—a rather good looking sociopath—seemed just like the thing to make life a little more interesting.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Sakura ran her hand over her cat, fondly named Tsunade after one of her more favorite humans. When she'd first found it inside a rusted cage, beaten up and watching her with steady blue eyes, Tsunade's face had flashed behind her eyes for the first time since she'd died decades ago.

(And when Sakura slaughtered the humans who'd harmed the blue-eyed cat, if the feline had watched her with a fearless air and darted its tongue out to lick at the blood it was sprayed with, well, it only cemented Sakura's belief that this cat was kin to Tsunade. Tsunade, who was a doctor before her time, who would never be remembered because she was a clever woman born into a time that would never notice any clever woman, no matter how many lives she saved or the new medical treatments she founded.)

Tsunade purred and thrust her head at Sakura's hand when she paused in her petting. Sakura chuckled and flicked through her phone. She had contacts here, gathered up over time. Some had been in her pocket for decades, their families having passed down the stories of her to each generation.

After a moment, Sakura dialed a number and held it to her ear, listening to it ring not even two times before she heard a click.

"It's me," she sang out. "I need you to do me a favor."

Tsunade looked up at her, blue eyes to green eyes, and it almost looked like she was smiling at her.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sakura was walking through a park when Itachi found her.

She always tried to live somewhere there was forest or at least a park, somewhere it was green and alive and didn't make her feel suffocated with all the iron around her. It sometimes helped when she was feeling especially homesick. Usually, though, it only made her feel worse.

It was nighttime, a little after eleven if she had to guess. It was quiet, or at least as quiet as it could get in a busy city. Most people wouldn't come out to a park at this time of night unless they were homeless or hungover pedestrians getting lost. Maybe a serial killer or two, though Sakura almost wanted someone to jump her, just because it would give her something to do.

When she felt the wind shift and caught a whiff of a cologne she recognized, Sakura stopped walking and said, without turning around, "How are you, Itachi? Did you manage to hide the body before someone left to take out the trash or did you just leave it there to rot?"

She hadn't seen anything on the news about a murder, but Sakura supposed that murders didn't usually make the news unless it was part of a stream of murders or was someone important to the public.

Itachi chuckled and she heard him step out from behind a tree. "I don't usually like to leave messes. How are you, Sakura?"

Sakura turned. He was smirking at her with those dead, dead eyes. Sakura had seen eyes like his before, sometimes with power-hungry politicians or Holocaust victims or just people, like Itachi, without empathy.

She blinked slowly at him. "Bored, mostly. How did you manage to clean everything up? You made quite a mess."

He shrugged one shoulder. He was wearing all black. A black, soft looking sweater underneath a black leather jacket with black pants and shoes. Paired with his black hair, he almost blended in with the night.

"I have my ways."

Sakura snorted. "What a turnaround answer."

Lips curling at the corners, Itachi said, "I know some people who can clean up any messes I tend to make. They're very good at what they do."

"Oh? They must have been close by to get to you before someone wandered back into the alley."

"Well, they just so happened to be in the club."

She pinned him with her eyes. "How convenient."

When he didn't say anything right away, Sakura turned back and started walking again, keeping her normal pace even as she heard Itachi catching up with her. He came to be shoulder-to-shoulder with her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket.

"You are not afraid to turn your back to me?" Sakura could see him looking at her out of the corner of her eye, but didn't turn her head towards him.

"If you were going to use one of those hidden knives on me, you wouldn't need my back turned for that. Plus," she said idly, "I don't think you're nearly that stupid. Though if you'd like to prove me wrong, go right ahead and see what happens."

He licked his lips. "And what would you do to me, _Sakura_ , if I did try?"

"Probably kill you. I find I'm a tad tired of people trying to kill me, less prone to letting them live." Humans had a nasty habit of showing up when you least wanted them to, and were prone to revenge fantasies.

"Oh? Have you had many experiences with people trying to kill you, darling?"

She almost snorted at the endearment. Funny, how he'd call her that and speak about murder in the same sentence. Though she'd found some other men called her that in a condescending fashion when they thought her a weak little girl, not seeing past the curled pink hair and pouting lips.

But when Itachi said it, it wasn't condescending. It was said like a lull, like a purr.

Funny, how a man with dead eyes and a lack of empathy could fake such feeling in his words. She wondered how long he'd had to observe other people to get it just right, to understand the patterns. Sakura would bet, looking up at him now, it hadn't taken him long at all.

"I've had my fair share," she murmured.

"I've been thinking, darling, about how you disappeared so suddenly. It was quite rude of you, by the way. I thought we were having such a nice conversation."

"A nice conversation in a blood drenched alley. Hmm. It's rude to have a lady stand somewhere her shoes could get dirty. Blood is so difficult to get out."

He chuckled. "Of course. My apologies, then." He eyed her thoughtfully. "I'd love to take you out shopping to make up for it."

She laughed. "Smooth. Very smooth." She made to fake clap for him. He watched her with greedy eyes.

"I mean it, darling."

"Hmm. Why don't you tell me what your clever little mind has come up with as to my 'disappearance'?"

Itachi put a hand over his heart, smirking. "You wound me, darling. My mind is anything but _little_ ," he purred.

She scoffed.

"But to answer your question, I've thought about it, and it only makes sense that you're a—"

"If you say vampire, I will slap you," she deadpanned.

He chuckled. "I think my clever little mind could to better than that. I was going to say you're some spy of a sort. Very well trained, I would think."

Sakura thought back to the Cold War. Ah, the Russians. She supposed she was a little biased just because it was so damn cold in Russia, but even before all that nasty business she'd never been fond of the country. Though she had to give them credit for their part in WWII. She'd appreciated their ruthlessness, though when they'd started to take all that famous and valuable artwork at the end of that war she'd been a little peeved. It was bad enough when Hitler had his hands on it; it belonged in a museum, taken care of with regulated temperatures and gloved hands.

She smiled up at him. "You're not wrong."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "That's not really an answer."

"Hmm."

"You're going to make me guess, darling?" He hummed. "I do like a challenge."

She flashed white teeth at him in the darkness. She watched his throat bob and his mouth open, just slightly.

"Then I think we're going to get along just fine, Itachi."

* * *

Author's Note: Here ya go. This was quite a quick update.

I know I'm putting a lot of history crap here, and I 100% blame my history buff of a military father who told me stories of WWII growing up. Yes.

I'm also having trouble with the settings for this story and how it won't let me change the cover picture for this story. It's never done this before, but whenever I go to select the image for this story, it lets me and then five minutes later it's gone. Very troublesome. I am not amused.

Just an FYI: I'm going back to school this next Monday, and so, as always, I don't know when I'll be able to update again. School is hard, guys. A science major is really freaking hard.

Please **REVIEW**! I appreciate all the reviews I've gotten for this story. Y'all are awesome. I am fond of the idea of Itachi taking Sakura out to shop for shoes and him being a total snob about it.


	3. Chapter 3

Standard disclaimer applies.

* * *

The club was cold and dark. Sakura had come back to the _Akatsuki_ club nearly a month later since meeting Itachi in the blood drenched alley. She'd been able to keep him away since their little run in at the park, but she had to admit he was persistent. She'd been getting nearly incessant text messages, phone calls, and emails from some of the people she had working for her about her identity. If some human started asking questions about her or about a pink haired girl, her people would hear about it and then she would get a memo about it.

Since she'd met Itachi, there had been forty-seven hits on her name.

It had started out as simply being amusing, but was quickly starting to become annoying. Interest, she could understand. She was an odd looking girl who hadn't made much effort in hiding what she was from a sociopath, but this was just getting ridiculous.

Forty-seven hits on her identity. _Forty-seven._

She'd done work of her own, of course. It didn't take her long to discover who Itachi Uchiha was, how his family's multimillion-dollar company was passed down to each generation. Eldest son to eldest son, like they were all living in the eighteen hundred's again. She'd scoffed when she'd found out. Ludicrous.

Something Itachi had said kept bothering her. The fact that he'd been able to have someone clean up his mess—someone who had apparently made a living out of cleaning up his messes—and them being right in the club, just oh-so conveniently, was odd to her.

So, as any intelligent ancient faerie, Sakura had done her research on the _Akatsuki_ club. Funnily enough, there hadn't been a whole lot of information on it, having been bought and set up with mostly cash transfers. She couldn't link any bank accounts to someone. On the lease, it had said the owner was someone called Menma. That was it. No last name, no explanation for the—quite frankly—ridiculous name. And then she couldn't find anything about him. Not. One. Thing.

This century had almost made it impossible for any human to go undetected. There was always a history, a few social media accounts with mundane information and selfies and—if Sakura was being honest—rather decent pictures of food.

But nothing came up for anyone named Menma. Sakura had pulled almost every string and hit up every contact she had, and no one had ever even heard of the man. She'd figured out it was a pseudonym, but even then, the man shouldn't have just suddenly popped out of nowhere to buy a club.

It was shady and a mystery, and Sakura was starting to realize having Itachi Uchiha approach her all those nights ago might just be the most interesting thing to happen to her in centuries. Maybe she would let him take her shoe shopping as a reward.

The club was technically closed. It was early afternoon and there were workers cleaning and setting up for opening that night. They didn't so much as spare her a glance when she'd let herself in unannounced. Sakura hummed under her breath and filled that away. Another oddity.

"Can I help you?"

Sakura looked over at the bar, seeing a man in the dim light, wiping down the counter. She blinked, wondering how she hadn't noticed him. Walking over with slow steps, Sakura could see a mop of dark hair sticking up in every direction, a flash of white teeth.

When she was close enough, who she assumed was Menma moved enough that a light caught on his face, Sakura had to physically fight back the gasp and recoil of shock.

The hair was dark, not a sunlight blonde that shone in the dark. His lips were curled into a smirk, not a grin that stretched ear to ear.

But his eyes. His _eyes_.

Blue, like the Caribbean water, like the clearest of the sea, only found on tropical islands most people never see. Blue, like the sky before pollution, when only a few white clouds in the sky marred that kind of peaceful, beautiful blue. Blue, like the blue she hadn't seen in centuries.

Blue, exactly like Naruto's eyes had been.

Her breath hitched and it took every well-honed year of experience and every ounce of self-control not to falter in her steps, to keep on walking towards Menma. His face . . . his face was the same as Naruto's. The same mouth she'd traced with her tongue once upon a time, the same nose she'd kissed in the night, the same body that had caught her eye . . . Everything was the same.

Sakura felt the emotion well up behind her eyes, the same warning of a break down she'd become so well acquainted with. She felt her lungs scream for more air than she needed, but furiously kept her body or face from showing anything.

She could still remember how cold Naruto's hand had been when he'd finally died in her arms. His wrinkled and ashen skin. The years had been kind to him, his face showing signs of laughter, his left hand with a single silver band, wrapped in vine and coursing with her magic. Her own finger paired with a matching ring, though on the inside it held the engraving of the Uzumaki clan symbol.

He'd been an orphan when she'd found him. The pariah of his village, shunned for reasons Sakura had never quite understood, nor particularly cared to. He'd been on the outskirts of the village, near her woods. She'd first approached him when he was a child, crying over the bloody gash on his arm from where other villagers had thrown rocks at him. No one had bothered to help the little blonde haired boy.

She'd listened to him, cradling him in her arms and stroking his hair as she healing the wound. It had been thick and knotted and filthy, but things had been different back then. She'd let him see her for who—what—she was. It was a risk, but his blue eyes enchanted her.

He'd responded so happily to her magic, too, that it had made the risk worth it.

Over time, Naruto would come back to her, shying around the edges of the woods until she came. She never made him wait long.

She'd tell him stories about her life. About the things she'd seen and done, and when he was older, she'd tell him about the wars. About the Summer Court— _her_ court. About the endless wars with the Winter Court, lasting so long that at some point, no one could remember what they were even fighting over, only that the war had been going on for so long that no one knew how to finish it.

The Spring Court and Autumn Court had, for the most part, stayed out of it. Sometimes the Spring Court would give a helping hand to the Summer Court, depending on how much it was affecting them. Sometimes the Autumn Court did the same thing for the Winter Court. But both were too small of Courts to truly participate, and neither had the same history of bloodshed the Summer and Winter Courts had.

Putting a stop to the wars was impossible. To propose a treaty was a sign of weakness, of giving up. And when the soldiers had centuries of bloodshed behind them, well, many wouldn't have taken it well.

The faerie royalty couldn't do anything. There had been Kings and Queens on both sides who hated the wars, but could not ultimately stop them. Too much history, too much inbreeded hate.

One day, when he was old enough, Naruto asked her about stealing him away. Something about him had made her want to tell him everything about herself, even the bloody and questionable parts. She hadn't expected him to ask her to do it to him, though she'd realized that she should have seen it coming.

"Do you love me, Sakura-chan?" he'd asked her even she'd paused for too long after his question.

"I love you," she'd said immediately, and it was true. She loved him more than she thought she would, more than she'd loved anyone in some time.

He'd scooted closer to her on the rock they were sitting on, dangling their feet in a pond. "Then won't you take me?"

She'd licked her lips and felt the greedy, ancient part of her being rise to the surface. _This_ , having a human offer themselves so freely to her, despite the costs she'd bluntly told him about before, was the epitome of glee for her kind. He _wanted_ her, despite everything. Despite the blood on her hands, the body count engraved into her skin. He'd listened to her stories without any hint of disgust or horror.

And being listened to, Sakura knew, was the most potent drug of all.

Sakura had breathed deep, let it out slowly. "You must be very sure, Naruto," she'd whispered, locking eyes with him, forest green to sky blue. "Because once I have you, I won't be able to let you go."

And he'd been so sure.

She'd taken him that day. He was a young man by then, able to know what he wanted in life, and Sakura wasn't about to make decisions for him.

He'd been her friend before he'd been her lover. And he'd been her lover before he'd been her husband.

She'd taken and collected humans like fine wine over the years, some faces blurring together and some forever etched into her mind. Naruto, quite easily, was at the forefront of her mind, and likely would remain there until the day she died.

"Will you remember me?" he'd asked when his skin began to crinkle and crow's feet lined the skin around his eyes. His blonde hair was just beginning to get the specks of gray in it.

He'd quickly followed the question with, "It's okay for you to forget me, Sakura-chan. I won't mind. I've had you for my lifespan, and that's more than good enough for me."

She'd tried to ignore the creeping feeling in her gut before then, ignoring the signs of age starting to appear while she remained forever the same. But the night he'd brought it up the first time, Sakura had snuck away from their bed in the forest and cried for the first time since she'd left the Summer Court.

They'd never had any children. For a faerie, having children was rare. Sakura knew Naruto wanted some, however, and they'd at one point seemed to adopt multiple children over the years, never taking any of them back to their home in the forest, but simply watching over the children from outside villages. The outcasts, pariahs, orphans. Naruto adored every single one.

Sakura had tried very hard to give Naruto everything he desired. Because while she was a selfish being, she was more selfish for his love and pleasure. Seeing him turn to her and giving her that big, bright smile of his was more than Sakura knew she deserved. She'd raze the world for that smile.

When he'd died long after his hair had turned stark white and his fingers turned crooked and knobby, Sakura had buried him in the forest, in a spot she knew the sun shone upon every day. Even on the coldest and most overcast of days, her immortal magic would allow a ray of sunlight to catch on her husband's unmarked grave.

Sakura had always been convinced that when Naruto had been born, the sun had shone a little brighter, and so it only made sense that in death the sun would still be drawn to him. Her sunshine boy, buried under the light.

Where Naruto had been light, Menma was dark. They'd had no children, and Sakura knew Naruto's clan had been wiped out long ago, so she didn't think it could be a descendent.

Sometimes, on the coldest days and sleepless nights, Sakura would lie in bed and think about reincarnation. She'd met and loved so many humans over the years. All were different in their own ways, yet they'd all held her love. Perhaps the stories were correct in the idea of the same soul being passed down to different bodies over generations. Maybe every human she'd ever loved was really the same soul passed down to different bodies, different genders, different faces, different histories, different priorities, different morals. Maybe there was a little bit of Naruto's soul attached to this dark boy in front of her, only being encased in whatever darkness resided in Menma. Perhaps he was a version of Naruto, only warped into someone new through different experiences and culture.

When Sakura was a little more than a foot away from the boy she assumed was Menma, she leaned against the bar and wiggled her fingers over the counter. Immediately, the smirk dropped from Menma's face. She was in no mood to play.

"Hello," Sakura said, glad when her voice came out strong, if not a little soft. "Are you Menma?"

He nodded sleepily.

Sakura smiled, long and slow. This boy was not Naruto. This boy was dark; dark in the way Itachi was dark. Dark in the way warriors from the Winter Court and the Summer Court were dark.

She glanced down at Menma's hands. Clean, round nails, perfectly trimmed.

She could almost smell the blood on them.

"I've got a few questions for you to answer, Menma."

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Later, Sakura heaved into the toilet of her home, gripping onto the towel next to her and trying and failing to not remember the sunshine boy she'd lost.

That boy—dark little Menma—was as bad as Itachi. It had been a while since she'd been around so many truly dark people. He was nothing like Naruto. _Nothing._

And somehow that hurt more.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I should kill you."

Itachi's shoulders went tense, but almost immediately relaxed when he recognized her voice.

"Sakura," he purred, turning around in his office chair to see her balancing on the windowsill.

They were forty stories up.

"What a lovely surprise, darling. Had I known you were coming I would've prepared a nice lunch for us—"

"Would you like to know what I am, Itachi?"

He paused, tilted his head to the side. Studied her. "Are you really going to tell me?"

"Hmm. I think you already know what I am."

One corner of his lips curled. "Oh?"

Sakura studied her nails, feeling her magic swirl around her. "There have been quite a few hits on my name ever since I met you, Itachi. I'm getting a little tired of getting phone calls and emails about it."

He spread his hands wide. "And yet I am still no closer to cracking your puzzle."

Sakura smiled, and something on her face must have set off whatever kind of internal alarm Itachi had in his fucked-up mind. He leaned back in his chair and tilted his chin up at her, looked her up and down. Her unruly curly hair blowing in the wind, the pink lipstick and heeled boots.

She stood and swayed over to his chair, until she could do a little hop and sit on the edge of his desk. "Have you ever heard of Puck?"

Itachi's jaw was clenched. She could tell that he hadn't, but didn't want to admit that.

"Puck," Sakura began, "was a trickster. He was a faerie who served under King Oberon of the Summer Court. He loved tricking humans out of deals and playing pranks that more often than not ended in bloodshed. He liked to call himself a Good Neighbor."

Itachi's eyelashes lowered. "Darling—"

Sakura waved her hand and suddenly Itachi found himself with an inability to speak. He clutched his throat, looked at her with raging eyes as he finally, _finally_ began to catch on to what she was really saying.

"Puck," she continued, clearing her throat daintily, "is gone. He finally pissed off a monster bigger than he was and he couldn't weasel his way out of it."

She smiled down at him, letting some of her history bleed through her eyes. "I'm the monster, Itachi Uchiha. I'm Oberon, I'm Mab, I'm Puck. I've gone by a lot of names over time—names hold power, you know—and I've been both King and Queen of the Summer Court. I was a trickster who played with humans before I had the throne. I waged war on the Winter Court because it was necessary and because it was demanded of me. I do not regret it. I do not regret waring with the Courts until there was nothing left of us, because there was nothing else to do."

Sakura paused, breathing deep. She saw the rage and interest warring in Itachi's eyes, drew a finger down his sharp, perfect cheekbones.

"One day," she whispered, like they were lovers, like they were rivals, like they were nothing but breath and air and darkness. "One day, I'm going to kill you, Itachi Uchiha. Just like I killed the last of the Kings and Queens of the Courts. Just like how I had to end my world to start something new. Perhaps the new faeries will make my old home into something better than my brethren did."

She pulled her hand away. "Or maybe it will all be the same as before, and my sacrifices have been all meaningless. Either way, it is their choice."

Sakura thought of the blood on her hands. How she'd whispered to Naruto at night the sins she committed to her people, the betrayal of their trust. How she saw how the wars would never end, no matter what anyone did or said, and so she made a choice.

She chose to kill all the Kings and Queens of old to make way for the new. She picked off each and every century old warrior who would never forgive or forget about the wars and who would never choose to move past old grievances. She picked and chose who lived and who died, leaving only the peaceful and young. None knew of what she did, the sacrifices she made for the hope of a brighter future. All they knew of was an ancient and powerful Queen of the Summer Court who needed no King to bring the faerie realm to ash and darkness. One who killed herself to achieve her victory.

None knew that she lived, that there was a reason she tried not to kill any of the young or those who held nothing but disdain for the wars. She left books and journals of past rulers to help guide the new generations, histories of both the cruel and kind to guide them into their own fate.

She could never go home, but Sakura didn't think that it was really her home any longer. She was too old, too ruthless, too _tired_.

She blinked away the small rays of sunlight that streamed through the windows in Itachi's lush office. It was almost twilight, and Sakura wanted to go drinking that night.

Looking back down at Itachi, she cupped his face in her palms, let her magic bleed out from her eyes and watched as his dark, dead eyes widened. "Menma told me about your little hobbies," she said. "About the money and drugs you pay him to help clean up your messes."

Itachi was struggling to say something, and Sakura rolled her eyes and let him speak again.

He breathed deep. "You're the same as me." He looked at her with something like rapture in his eyes, like her confessions were the holiest of things to grace his ears.

She chuckled. "No, Itachi, we aren't. When I kill, it's to achieve something, to fight a war, win it, end it, whatever. It's to get information or a lead or something to help me prevent something worse from happening. But _you_ —" she sneered. "You do it just because you can, and while that can be amusing for a short while, I find that I'm tired of this game."

 _Naruto, Naruto, Naruto,_ her mind chanted. Naruto wouldn't want this. Naruto wouldn't want her to let someone like Itachi go to kill again.

God, how had she forgotten so much about him? And how awful that it was someone like Menma to remind her?

Looking at him now, this beautiful man with sharp cheekbones and dead eyes, Sakura made a choice.

"Darling—" he purred.

Moving her hands over his eyes, Sakura moved her thumbs into his eye sockets and pressed down.

He started to scream.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Maybe one day she'd regret binding Itachi Uchiha to herself, but today was not that day.

The man had good taste in shoes.

They were on their fifth shoe store of the day and Sakura already had more pairs of shoes picked out by Itachi than she did at home. She regretted nothing.

Itachi was looking at some leather shoes that had—if the shop girl was correct—been imported from Italy and there were only a limited number of them in the United States. He watched her, the little blonde, bubbly thing that she was with sharp, bored eyes.

When he felt her gaze, Itachi's eyes flicked up and caught hers, his eyes flashing red for the briefest of moments before going back to black. Sakura licked her lips and internally purred at how good of a job she did at her binding.

Itachi Uchiha wouldn't ever be able to kill again. At least, not without Sakura's permission. In fact, Itachi couldn't do much of _anything_ without Sakura's permission. There weren't any ancient forests that she could steal him away to like the days of old, but she could still bind humans to her in other ways.

His eyes, of course, were good ways to do it. Sakura burned his shark-like eyes with her mark, so that he was hers in every way that mattered.

For Naruto, it had been their wedding rings. For Itachi, it was his eyes. Sakura mentally gave herself a pat on the back of the ingenuity of it.

He came over to her after telling the shop girl he'd take the shoes, leaning down to her and tying up the heels that had far too long straps in Sakura's opinion, letting his hands and fingers linger around her ankles. Sakura wiggled her toes in his grasp.

Leaning down, Itachi pressed a feather light kiss to her ankle where the laced tied together, looking up at her through hooded eyes. "My Queen," he purred.

Sakura scoffed. "Don't even."

His thumb moved back and forth along the inside of her foot, the sensitive part of her skin there. He gave her a smoldering look.

"No."

He pouted.

"We're not killing the shop girl just because she annoys you, Itachi."

"Darling—"

Unfortunately, a drawback of Sakura binding Itachi to herself was that they were pretty much _always_ together. And that meant incessant nagging from him about how they would be fantastic kill buddies. Or fuck buddies. Or both.

Sakura leaned down so she was only a breath's space away from Itachi's face. She watched his eyes dilate and go red around the edges as his breath hitched and his hands tightened around her ankles.

"Remember, Itachi," she purred, "I'm only keeping you alive because you're amusing."

He raised an eyebrow. Sakura ignored the lust she saw in his red gaze as he licked his lips. "I can think of more ways for me to _amuse_ you, my Queen," he purred right back.

Maybe one day she'd regret this, but it wasn't going to be that day.

* * *

Author's Note: **THE END**.

Yes, this was a very short three-shot story and no, there will not be more. I'm proud of myself for finishing this, to be honest. But I can't just leave something unfinished or it will haunt me, so here you go.

Please **REVIEW**! Tell me what you think. I know it was short, but it was also a bit different from what I usually write.


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